Chapter 4 - The Serpent’s End
The moon was a sliver of bone in the sky,
casting long,
distorted shadows across the lawn as the clock struck midnight.
Inside the room,
the only sound was the rhythmic hum of the machines,
a mechanical lie that I had maintained with a heavy heart.
I stood behind the heavy velvet curtains,
my fingers white as I gripped the silver pistol.
My breath was shallow,
each heartbeat a hammer against my ribs.
The door handle turned with a slow,
deliberate click.
I watched through the small gap in the fabric as Marco entered,
followed by two of his most loyal soldiers.
He looked at the bed,
a smug,
hideous smile stretching across his face.
“Goodbye,
big brother,”
Marco whispered,
reaching for the power cord of the ventilator.
“You were always too strong for your own good.”
“The empire belongs to someone who knows how to enjoy it now.”
Just as his hand closed around the cord,
the room went silent.
Dante sat up in the bed,
the movement so fast and fluid it looked like a magic trick.
Before Marco could even scream,
Dante’s hand was around his throat,
pinning him to the mattress.
The two soldiers reached for their guns,
but the shadows in the corners of the room moved first.
Isabella’s loyal guards,
men who had been waiting for Dante’s signal,
stepped out with silenced weapons.
Two quiet thuds followed as the soldiers hit the floor,
their lives ending before they could even blink.
Marco’s eyes were wide with a terror that looked like madness.
“D-Dante?”
he wheezed,
his face turning a deep,
sickly purple.
Dante didn't let go,
his grip tightening with every second of Marco’s frantic struggling.
“You thought I was dead,
Marco?”
Dante asked,
his voice a low,
terrifying growl.
“You thought you could touch my territory and my wife?”
I stepped out from behind the curtain,
the pistol lowered but still ready.
Dante looked at me,
his eyes cold as ice,
before turning back to his brother.
“Claire told me everything,”
Dante said.
“Every meeting,”
“every bribe,”
“every plan to sell the family out to the Russians.”
He threw Marco across the room,
letting him collapse in a heap on the floor.
“Isabella!”
Marco screamed,
looking toward the door as the grandmother entered.
She didn't look at him with pity;
she looked at him with the same coldness she showed to an uninvited guest.
“You are no longer a Bellavita,
Marco,”
she said,
handing a folder of evidence to Dante.
“You are a cancer that we are finally removing.”
Dante stood up,
his tall,
imposing frame casting a shadow over his broken brother.
“Take him to the docks,”
Dante ordered.
“Let him see the shipment he wanted so badly.”
“And then,”
“make sure he never sees another sunrise.”
As Marco was dragged out,
his pleas for mercy echoing down the hallway,
Dante turned to me.
He looked exhausted,
the physical strain of the fight finally catching up to him.
I walked over to him,
taking his hand and leading him back to the chair.
“You did it,”
I whispered.
“The empire is yours again.”
Dante looked at the wedding ring on my finger,
then up at my face.
“No,
Claire,”
he said,
his voice surprisingly gentle.
“The empire is ours.”
Isabella watched us,
a small,
rare nod of approval acknowledging the new queen of the house.
The serpent was gone,
and the lion had reclaimed his throne.
But as I looked at the blood on the floor,
I knew that the peace would be a fragile thing.
May you like
A Bellavita marriage was a contract written in blood,
and I was the only one who could keep the ink from drying.
